A Tragic Loss
by vanillafluffy
Summary: Captain Jack Sparrow brings a man who has lost his memory aboard the Black Pearl. Gibbs and Anamaria think this is the craziest thing Jack has done yet, but they don't know the whole story. AU to DMC. No spoilers! Sparrington.


This **PotC** fic was written prior to the release of **Dead Man's Chest**, so no spoilers. I saw that advance picture of Norrington looking all grotty, and let my imagination wander in slashy directions. Alas, it's plainly AU in light of recent events. Either way, I don't own any of it. Credit there goes to the Mouse.

* * *

**A Tragic Loss**

The torment echoed through him, expanding from his soul outward and flaying him with each beat of his heart. It was breaking, it hurt so. Other areas pained him---his bruised hands, various scrapes and swellings, a myriad of minor injuries that were a flock of gulls shrieking. His brain was worse, though. The agony there was as the tolling of an immense bell resounding in an endless requiem for the dead.

"Steady on, Jamey. Have some water." The water was sweet and cool, and he tried to reach for the cup when it was pulled away. "Not too much!" admonished the man holding the mug of nectar. He had a rag in one hand---considering the state of his clothing, it was hard to tell where the rag ended and the garment began---and the thirsty man sighed with pleasure at the touch of the moist cloth against his face.

He was resting on a narrow bunk in a musty cabin. He saw iron bars---the brig? That mean he was in trouble...but why? If this was a brig, he must be aboard a ship. The motion of a vessel riding the waves was so natural that it threatened to send him back to sleep. Back to sleep? He must have been sleeping...funny, he didn't remember what came before that. His head ached. When his fingers explored the site, they encountered a coarse bandage. "What happened?" he asked the man who was attending him. The fellow was watching him with concern.

"You took a knock on the head. Don't you remember?" There was concern on the good samaritan's face, a narrow, sharp-featured visage with dark eyes that seemed to look into his soul. An odd-looking fellow, to be sure, with beads and trinkets adorning his braided hair and beard...

The man on the bunk shook his head, then wished he hadn't as the cabin began spinning. "No," he whispered. It was difficult to think. "Was it a battle?" The way the other man was staring at him made him afraid. "Am I dying?"

"We're all dying, Jamey---one day at a time." A thin, sun-bronzed hand stroked his whiskered cheek. "Don't fret. Here's more to drink."

The man addressed as Jamey drained the cup and gave what he hoped was a grateful smile. He was so tired...

When he awoke again, Jamey was lying in a proper bed in a full-sized stateroom, and someone was pulling his leg. Literally. The man who'd given him water was tugging at his left boot, and since the patient knew it was bad manners to sleep in his boots, he obligingly angled his foot to allow it to slide off better.

"Ah, you're back with us," said his guardian, dropping the boot and reaching for the other. "How's the head, Jamey?"

"God-awful." He looked around the room, which was much more ornate than his previous waking-place. This was no brig. Hanging lanterns were lighted, suggesting a late hour. "Where am I? And, I'm sorry, I should probably know this, but---who are you?"

For a moment, the other man stared at him, open-mouthed. Gold glinted at the corner of his vulpine smile. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, and you're aboard the _Black Pearl_." He got the other boot off, and stood gazing down at Jamey, as if dumbfounded.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Jamey apologized. "I seem to be a bit worse for the wear." He touched the bandage on his head again. Not as painful as it had been. Had he been on guard duty in the brig, perhaps struck down by a prisoner? How humiliating. "I'll be back on duty soon, sir. My word of honor."

"Of course you will," Captain Sparrow assured him, blinking. "Now give me a hand, you could do with a wash."

Jamey gave passive cooperation as the captain removed his clothes---there was a tattered jacket of heavy brocade, trimmed with gold---shedding that was like being out from under a wool blanket. A once-white linen shirt, now filthy, landed on the floor of the cabin with the coat. Breeches---had it not been for the other man's help, Jamey couldn't have struggled free of them.

"Underdrawers too, mate." He complied languidly. "Doesn't that feel good?"

Sparrow had a bowl of water and he trailed a damp sea sponge across Jamey's face and down his neck. It was cool enough, particularly now that he'd parted company with his clothes, and his nipples hardened. He gave a hiss of breath as Sparrow drew the sponge from side to side across his chest. One finger flicked out, scraping lightly against the tip of his right nipple.

"Straighten up, let me get yer back," the captain said with a ring of command. Jamey hesitantly took the hand Sparrow offered him and allowed himself to be hauled into a sitting position. He experienced a frightening sense of vulnerability. He was quite naked; the other man was fully dressed and clearly in charge. And yet...he welcomed his own helplessness. He had only to do as the captain ordered. No decisions, no responsibilities...the thought drifted across his mind with no more weight than a cloud.

Swaying a bit, Jamey sighed with pleasure at the texture of the compress against his back. He rested the side of his face against Sparrow's shoulder. The captain smelled of sea breezes, gunpower and tar. Up and down his hand moved, from Jamey's shoulders to his buttocks, from his right side, nearest to Sparrow, to his left.

This was not how ship captains usually behaved. Although he couldn't say how he knew it, Jamey was firmly convinced that one playing nursemaid was an exceptional occurrence. He allowed that thought to nest for a moment. If the captain was doing this for him, then it must be because he was...a favorite of the captain's.Otherwise, he'd be in trouble for...whatever he'd done.The sponge floated in the slop bowl as Sparrow's fingers combed through his hair. Gentle fingers tucked stray lengths of wavy brown hair behind his ears.

It was a curiously relaxing sensation. "Please, sir, may I have more water?"

This time, the water was served to him in a goblet of good craftsmanship. When he'd slaked his thirst and thanked his benefactor, Captain Sparrow leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Jamey's. He tasted of rum and salt and a splash of citrus...feeling light-headed again, Jamey slumped back against the pillows when the kiss was broken. "Captain Sparrow," he began. "I---"

"Call me Jack." Jack Sparrow squeezed the excess water from the sponge, and resumed cleansing him.

"Jack..." he breathed. Now it wasn't just his nipples which were getting hard. He felt heat as his cock roused. The water was not so chill that it gave pause to the erection rising from his loins, particularly when Jack's hand wrapped around it. The warmth of his own body combined with the moisture of the sponge, giving it the sensation of being enveloped in a moist quim.

Jamey moaned as skillful fingers probed between his thighs and began to fondle his ball sac. A far-away part of a past he couldn't quite recall was horrified. This wasn't right, it insisted. Clearly, it didn't know what it was talking about, because Jamey felt very right with the experience. Jack peeled back his foreskin as if his prick was a particularly tasty piece of fruit, and if the warm, damp sponge was pleasurable, it was nothing, _nothing _compared to the heat of Jack's mouth as it descended on his rampant manhood.

The other man's tongue lashed the underside of his cock, the molten cavern of his mouth caressing the tender flesh. Jamey closed his eyes, letting himself savour the magnificent suckling that wanted him to erupt with the force of his need. The muscles in his thighs were tense; he fought a crude desire to thrust himself into Jack's mouth. Jack retreated, the tide of sensation ebbing, tantalizing Jamey as Jack's soft lips parted and brushing the tip of his erection with feather-light kisses. When he blew a gust of rum-scented air against Jamey's twitching flesh, the injured man let out an involuntary yelp.

"What's that?" Jack teased. "Is there a mouse in here? I heard something squeak."

"No," Jamey gasped, his voice hoarse.

"No, I should stop, no?"

"Don't stop!" Jamey pleaded. "Please, Jack! Don't stop!"

A grin came his way then, a grin that promised delightful things, and Jamey waited anxiously for more. He wasn't disappointed. Jack's clever hands played with him; the right hand cradling his taut balls, his left hand pressed against the base of his prick. As Jamey looked at the other man with longing, Jack leaned forward, his breath a hot tingle against Jamey's yearning flesh.

"Settle down, you," Jack whispered roughly, and Jamey made himself relax against the mattress. "'at's better."

The captain watched him, brown eyes looking intently up at Jamey as he took the rigid column of flesh deep into his gullet. Feeling himself being encompassed and roused by an eager mouth was an experience he'd only dreamed of. Jack's lips clasped the root of his cock and if having the thick length of it shoved halfway down his throat was uncomfortable, he didn't show it. Jamey knew he couldn't last much longer---couldn't possibly, not with Jack milking him with rhythmic gulps---perhaps this was what it was like for a fish being swallowed by a pelican, or some other bird that devoured its prey still squirming...

Jack kneaded Jamey's balls with a practiced hand, his fingers curling beneath the straining nuggets and jabbing lightly against the exquisitely sensitive membrane between his balls and his bottom. The calloused fingers were knowing, insistant, triggering his release as if setting a spark to powder.

Pleasure consumed him as surely as Jack did. Jamey lurched as his climax overcame him. Wave after wave of glorious sensation surged through him and he was helpless in its undertow. There were tears on his face as the last remnant of seed spurted from his loins. He didn't know why he was weeping, but Jack asked no questions. He lay on Jamey's left side, an arm loosely around him, patting him as he sobbed and then, finally, slept again.

* * *

Captain Jack Sparrow left the slumbering man curled up in a nest of pillows. As soon as he departed from his cabin, Anamaria pounced. "For God's sake, Jack---are you mad, bringing Norrington here? He won't rest until he sees you hang, he's said so!"

Jack sighed and glanced back at his cabin door. "He's resting now, poor bastard." Gibbs joined them, and from the corners of his eyes, Jack could see other crew members looking their way. "He's lost his wits," Jack told them quietly. "Has no idea who he is, much less who I am."

"It's a trick!" his feisty companion declared, her eyes asking Gibbs to agree with her.

"It's no trick, Ana," Jack said flatly, "unless you think Commodore Stick-Up-His-Arse Norrington would call a pirate 'sir' and ask if he could please have some water. Or perhaps you think he was dissembling when he apologized for being hurt and promised me he'd be back on duty soon."

"If he meant duty as back hunting pirates..." Gibbs suggested.

"No." The captain's tone was final. "I was pretty hard on him. I gave him the rough side of my tongue, and he never so much as squeaked."

His loyal seconds exchanged wary glances. "What happens when the Royal Navy comes looking for him, Jack? What _really _happened?" Gibbs asked. "When you brought him aboard, I thought you bested him in a fight, but it's more than that, isn't it? You took the skiff to leave a gift for the newlyweds while they were off on their honeymoon cruise---"

The moon was waning gibbous, and Jack stared at the sparkle of the moonpath on the calm sea for a long moment. "I sailed the _Urchin _in with the wind at my back. There was a fog, I thought. It wasn't til I came 'round the point that I saw..." His voice trailed away. "It's gone."

"What's gone?" asked Gibbs, his brows furrowed.

"Port Royal," Jack said somberly. "I could see from well out that the fort was gone. When I anchored the sloop in a nearby cove and went ashore, I met a man carrying away a great bundle of things, he said the earth swallowed it all. I had to see it for myself...I almost wish I hadn't. I've never seen such destruction. The whole town lay in ruins. It was as if God's own cannons bombarded it. There were fires still burning and the dead lay everywhere, three days dead and reeking. And then I found...him."

Anamaria's eyes were wide, and Gibbs took a draught from his flask. "You went to the fort looking for him?"

"Do I look like a bloody parrot?" Jack snarled at them in a savage undertone, with a quick glance toward the closed door of his cabin. "There _is _no fort! There's a ruddy great heap of stone blocks half under water, that's all! He was over where the governor's mansion used to stand, trying to clear away the rubble with his bare hands. Been there ever since it happened, by the look of it. As if he'd been to Hell and it chewed on him some and spat him back out. He's had an almighty shock and a head wound, and I will wager my neck that he won't ever be the same."

There were tears on Anamaria's cheeks, and Joshamee Gibbs looked shaken.

"So, we don't need to worry about the Royal-bloody-Navy," Jack concluded. "There are so many dead and missing that they'll never account for them all. Commodore Norrington is dead, and I'll write our new hand into the _Pearl's _book as Jamey Norton, sailor."

* * *

I'm not disappointed by what they did with Norrington in DMC. I'm not planning to carry on with this; the "new" Norrington has possibilities of his own... 


End file.
